


Cling To Me In This Broken Dream

by ArethusaRay



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, First Time, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Make Them Do It, Non Consensual, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape, Rough Sex, Spells & Enchantments, Stuff Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArethusaRay/pseuds/ArethusaRay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin accidentally casts a spell on Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cling To Me In This Broken Dream

**Author's Note:**

> In case the warning and tags aren't enough, I want to make sure to state this is Non-Con.
> 
> Also, many thanks to dreamlittleyo for assistance above and beyond the call of beta!

Merlin sits alone in his bedchamber, book open in his lap, practicing spells. It’s been a long day of polishing Arthur’s armor and scrubbing Arthur’s floors and now he is exhausted, but he has to practice if he hopes to improve. So instead of sleeping, here he sits, leafing through the dusty pages and practicing his pronunciation.

_“Cynig . . . C-oo-nig . . .Helpan cynig . . .”_

He sighs and turns the page.

His mind wanders to Arthur’s various insults from the day and all the tasks Merlin will have to face tomorrow. Arthur can be such a prat. Merlin imagines his smug face as he gives orders designed for the sole purpose of making Merlin’s life miserable. He reads the next spell aloud. _“Hwón frec lyste forbærne. Beclyppe þonne ealle mán.”_ His pronunciation is perfect, and Merlin sighs and closes the book, too distracted to concentrate on magic. He puts the book away and tries to sleep.

* * * 

Arthur sleeps peacefully in his ornate bed, oblivious to the air shimmering around him and Merlin’s words whispering in on the breeze. _Hwón frec lyste forbærne. Beclyppe þonne ealle mán._ Arthur’s dreams turn to his manservant, to his sharp cheekbones, his large smile, the way his arse looks when he bends over. The dream warms vividly, and he imagines kissing full, cherry lips, running his hands along the lithe figure. Merlin’s hipbones are sharp beneath his touch. Arthur needs him. He needs him with every fibre of his being. His cock aches with the desire to be inside of Merlin.

* * * 

Merlin wakes early as usual, eats his breakfast, and heads out to wake Arthur and begin the morning’s chores. On entering Arthur’s bedchamber, he rolls his eyes at finding the prince clearly in the throes of an amorous dream. He’s kicked off his clothing and is clutching a pillow, moaning into it. Merlin thinks about leaving and coming back later, but Arthur is needed for knightly duties and Merlin doesn’t want to spend yet another day in the stocks for Arthur’s absence. He clears his throat once, then again more loudly. Arthur stirs but doesn’t awaken.

Merlin approaches the bed, leans over, and says, “Arthur, wake up.”

* * * 

Arthur opens his eyes and finds Merlin’s face hovering close, as if his dream has translated itself to waking life. He reaches for Merlin, curling his hands around Merlin’s neck, and pulls him into a deep kiss. Merlin instantly stiffens in his grip and attempts to pull back, but Arthur won’t have that. He curls his fingers into knotted arches and digs his nails into the back of Merlin’s neck. Merlin’s protest is muffled by the kiss, and Arthur sits up in bed to give himself more leverage.

Merlin flails his arms and tries to pull away, and frustration heats in Arthur’s chest. He wants Merlin now. Why does Merlin always have to make things more difficult than necessary?

Merlin manages to pry his lips away from Arthur’s and gasps, “Arthur, stop! What are you doing?”

Arthur freezes for a moment, confused. He’s sure that Merlin wants this. He must be protesting because he thinks he should, some silly notion of propriety. But it doesn’t matter, really. Arthur knows better than to listen. He’ll make sure they both get what they need.

Merlin struggles to free himself from Arthur’s hold. He’s not sure what’s gotten into him, but something is very wrong. He knows instinctively that, somehow, this is not Arthur.

Merlin manages to slip away as Arthur adjusts his position. He darts toward the door, but Arthur is deceptively fast and catches him halfway there. He grabs Merlin hard, muscling him easily back to the bed, leaving careless bruises beneath his fingertips.

Arthur throws him down hard on the matress, then backs away. Merlin tries to rise, tries again to escape, but Arthur shoves him down, rough enough to crack Merlin’s back. He freezes, staring up at the prince, whose nakedness clearly shows his intentions. Merlin realizes his smartest option is to stay still and wait for Arthur to make a move. If he stops struggling, maybe Arthur will let his guard down and give him the opportunity to slip away.

Arthur grabs a long loop of leather from a hook on the wall, and Merlin’s heart speeds unpleasantly. He watches as Arthur takes a knife from the table and cuts the cord into four equal lengths. Merlin panics and makes a dive off of the bed, but Arthur grabs his ankle and yanks him back. Merlin continues to struggle as Arthur binds the rope to his ankle and pulls it tight to the bed frame.

When he tests the strength of the knot and finds himself unable to move that ankle. Arthur is already binding his other leg, then moves on to his wrists. By the time he’s finished, Merlin is trapped on his stomach against the mattress, struggling to breathe through the panic in his chest.

He screams protests, begs Arthur to stop. Arthur pulls Merlin’s kerchief up over his mouth and shoves it in, silencing Merlin and making it almost impossible to breathe.

* * * 

Once he’s certain that Merlin is secured, Arthur steps back to admire his work. Merlin looks impossibly alluring, stretched out as he is. Arthur wishes he’d thought to undress him before tying him up, but he’s never been one to shy from a challenge. He climbs onto the bed and straddles Merlin’s thighs, then reaches beneath him, ignoring his squirming, and unties Merlin’s trousers. He yanks them down hard, and Merlin lets out a stifled squeak.

Arthur admires his manservant’s well-rounded arse, and his cock throbs in anticipation as he as he grasps Merlin’s pale thighs with bruising strength. He reaches up with one hand and twines his fingers roughly in Merlin’s hair. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he mounts Merlin and enters him in a single, impatient thrust. 

* * * 

Merlin grits his teeth and inhales sharply at the sudden, painful penetration. He subvocalizes a lubrication spell, one he’s found very helpful in private situations but never expected to use like this, and prays Arthur won’t suspect the sudden reduction of friction is due to sorcery. Arthur thrusts with an animal-like need, biting Merlin’s shoulder and grunting heavily.

Merlin is alarmed to realize that, despite the ferocity of Arthur’s assault, his own body has begun to respond.

Spurred by a new flavor of panic, Merlin’s mind races. What could possibly be causing Arthur to behave this way? He’s certain it must be bewitchment of some variety, but who would do such a thing? And why? Is it directed at Merlin personally or would Arthur have attacked the first person he saw in any case?

“Oh Merlin!” Arthur cries as his rhythm grows more frantic. “Merlin— _Merlin_!”

Well, that answers one question. But who would target Merlin in such a way? What could Merlin possibly have done to make someone think he deserves _this_? Who even knows this type of spell— oh.

_Oh._

Merlin’s mind races back to the magic he was practicing absentmindedly the night before. The final spell he read aloud, not thinking, not considering the repercussions.

_“Hwón frec lyste forbærne. Beclyppe þonne ealle mán.”_

A lust spell. Merlin spoke a lust spell aloud while idly thinking of Arthur. He brought this on himself.

His thoughts cease entirely as Arthur changes positions and ruts into him from a new angle. The pain is extraordinary, yet his body is also responding with pleasure. Every so often Arthur hits a spot within him that sends shivers down his spine, and in those moments, Merlin doesn’t want him to stop. Then the pain intensifies. He feels impossibly full, his insides an agony as Arthur’s rhythm falters, and he wonders how badly he’s hurt.

Every thrust feels as though it will tear him apart, and all Merlin wants is for this to end.

He tries to remember the spell, to think of some way to snap Arthur out of this enchantment. It comes to him as Arthur bellows, thrusts hard, and stills deep in Merlin’s body.

Merlin whispers, _“ic þé álíese.”_ His eyes shine as the spell breaks.

* * * 

Arthur lays with his eyes closed, gasping and panting for several moments before it occurs to him that he has no recollection of getting himself in this position and no idea who the maiden beneath him might be. He languidly stretches and cups her arse cheek in his palm, then smiles and opens his eyes.

He leaps backwards, fumbling sideways off the bed and falling to the floor in a heap. His heart races. Why is Merlin tied to his bed and, more importantly, what has Arthur done to him?

Arthur’s shock quickly turns to anger, never mind that he lacks a proper target. “Merlin! What the bloody hell are you doing?”

Merlin eyes him dolefully but says nothing, and Arthur belatedly notices the kerchief crammed into his servant’s mouth. He stands and approaches haltingly, as if Merlin might somehow attack him despite being helpless and immobilized. Arthur yanks the kerchief free, then backs away quickly, afraid that Merlin might somehow lure him back.

“Do you think you could maybe untie me, too?” Merlin asks in a shaky, nearly inaudible voice.

“What did you do to me?”

“Nothing! You attacked me!” Merlin hesitates, and his voice is terrifyingly quiet when he says, “It was some kind of sorcery, I think.”

Arthur’s eyes darken at the mention of magic. There is a knife sitting carelessly on the floor, and he grabs it to cut Merlin’s bonds. Merlin hastens to pull up his trousers, then slinks off the bed and into the corner opposite Arthur, avoiding eye contact.

Arthur holds himself as tall as he can and says, “You may take the day off. Ask Gaius if there have been other incidents of magic.” He pauses in an effort to steady his voice. “But Merlin, this incident is not to be spoken of. This never happened.”

Merlin clearly doesn’t need to be told twice. He nods once without raising his eyes, then scurries towards the door.

Once he is gone, Arthur heaves a sigh and collapses to a sitting position on the floor. He puts his head in his hands, suddenly weary. Try as he might, he can’t seem to banish the image of Merlin’s parting expression.

Worse by far is the nagging sense that, though he has no clear memory of the morning’s events, he is quite sure he enjoyed himself.

How he’s ever going to look Merlin in the eye again, Arthur doesn’t know.


End file.
